The Taming of John Watson: Deleted Scenes
by taylorpotato
Summary: Pretty much what you'd expect. All sorts of parings and things I wanted, but didn't actually put in the story. Mostly shameless smut. Enjoy!


_Fair warning: so this is the Sheriarty sex scene I wanted to write in chapter 21. You can pretty much treat this, and all further deleted scenes, as if they didn't happen. Enjoy them guiltlessly. I'll warn you for power play, and general Sheriarty insanity. But as far as things go, this isn't too bad._

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Sherlock wasn't sure how much more he could take. He'd had an erection on and off for hours. He'd never been so sexually frustrated in his entire life.

If he'd thought he was going to break watching Jim fuck Sebastian… he'd seriously underestimated Jim Moriarty's creativity.

Jim was entirely naked, flushed, and thoroughly debauched. Sitting in Sherlock's lap and fucking himself on a dildo. He stared into Sherlock's eyes as he bounced up and down on the plastic cock, _moaning_ unabashedly.

Sherlock could make it end. It would be simple. He'd just have to reach out and touch Jim. That would be it. Just take his hands from their place on the couch and move them to rest on Jim's slender hips. His self-control would shatter into a thousand tiny pieces.

"I can see how much you want it," Jim whined breathily. "It's delicious. Your pupils are the size of pennies, dear."

"And what other reaction would you expect?" Sherlock said coolly. Still in control, if only just. "You've been teasing me for the better part of an afternoon. It's a natural biological response."

"True I suppose. The only thing that's unnatural about it is how long you've been trying to hold out. Just give in, pet. We both know you will in the end. There's no point in making yourself suffer."

"Men and their pride," Sherlock shrugged. Trying to remain aloof. God it was difficult.

If he looked at Jim's face, he saw nothing but the raw want. The smugness. The certainty that he'd get his way eventually.

If he looked at Jim's body, he saw all the lean lines, and pale skin. All the little scars, though whether they were from fights or risky sexual endeavors nobody could say. John's body was compact. Jim's was just small. Tapered. Not much muscle tone to speak of. Almost fragile. Almost delicate. If you didn't know better, it was the type of body you'd want to hold against you late at night. The kind of body you could wrap yourself around, protect.

If he looked down, he saw Jim's cock. Not so very long, but fairly thick, with a dusky pink crown, shining with his previous release. Lower still, the point of penetration. Where the plastic slid into Jim's body.

Sherlock had tried closing his eyes. The first time Jim had bit his neck. The second time, Jim had slapped him. Nowhere safe. God. What was he even fighting anymore?

"Would it be better if I called you, _Sir_?" Jim let the word drawl out so it was almost condescending. But it stirred something in Sherlock's stomach. "I'd let you hurrrrt me. Sebby's right there, of course. He'd stop you if you got too drastic. But maybe I'd let you wrap those large hands of yours around my neck. You could leave bruises. Big old purple marks to show everybody what you did to me."

Sherlock said nothing. Because even Jim's submission would be another form of power play. He might give Sherlock the illusion of control. But really, it was just another surrender. Surrendering to his own desire. His own need to mark Jim's skin. Use him.

Jim stopped riding the dildo for a moment and leaned in close. Lips almost brushing against Sherlock's. "You could bite me till I bleed. You could slap me around. Spank me. Make me screaaam…" and then his voice shifted entirely. Every ounce of teasing dropped. It went soft, and smooth, and oddly vulnerable. "Please, Sir. I need it."

Sherlock's breath caught.

Fuck.

He stared into the black holes of Jim's eyes, and just for a moment, he saw something real. The loneliness. The fear. The awful ringing silence at the top of the world. The internal screams of a mind that runs too fast.

And yes, they were playing a game. A horrible game, that couldn't possibly end well for either of them.

But in that one moment, he saw, and he understood. If not entirely, to some degree, perhaps he sympathized with Jim's drive towards chaos. The need to take apart a world where neither of them would ever fit. The desire to destroy what would never accept you for what you are… a monster.

The suspension shattered as quickly as it appeared. Jim's mask slid back into place. Smiling. Because he knew he'd won something. He leaned forward, to occupy Sherlock's space. Their mouths met.

A few, careful presses of lips. Then the ice cracked. They plunged into each other. A tangle of tongues and teeth. Sherlock's brain short-circuited. All he registered was the wash of sensation.

Jim's hands on him—unbuttoning his trousers, pulling down the zip, wrapping a fist around Sherlock's aching erection and giving him a slow stroke. Yes. Sherlock touched Jim blindly. Ghosting his fingers over the miles of exposed skin. Jim gasped into his mouth when he grasped the base of the dildo and began to move it once again, fucking Jim slowly as they tried to devour each other.

"_Please_," Jim whispered. So quiet Sherlock barely heard it. Maybe so Sebastian _wouldn't_ hear it, from his place across the room. Pacing. No doubt this was torture for him as well. Sherlock almost pitied him for a moment.

But then Jim gave him another languid stroke, swiping his thumb over the head of Sherlock's prick, and his mind went blank again. His heart beat frantically. He could hear it everywhere. Or maybe, it was Jim's heartbeat. Both of them together. Falling into a savage, primal rhythm.

They were always meant to end up here. The act had a feverish sort of inevitability to it. Like the pull of a tidal wave. Sherlock stopped digging his heels in and allowed himself to be washed away in it.

He slowly pulled the dildo out and tossed it aside. Jim clung to him for a moment, shaky, already so close to the edge. Sherlock didn't have to calculate or plan. It all sprung from instinct, muscle memory.

He pulled Jim's hips forward, pressing their bodies together. Jim looked at him, a bit lost. Expressionless. Not sure what part he should be acting.

Really, it was a last minute decision, not to let Jim sink down onto him and ride him. Instead, he grabbed a firm hold of Jim's shoulder's, and pushed him sideways. Maneuvered him quickly onto his back.

Jim complied. Limp. Easy. Living weight.

And there they were. Jim sprawled across the couch, belly up, wide eyed. Sherlock lying on top of him. Jim wrapped his legs around Sherlock's waist. The detective held himself up with one arm as he positioned himself.

The final plunge. The easiest part. The hardest part.

Sherlock let out a shaky breath and sank into the slick warmth. Jim's body offered little resistance. Just enough to make the heat feel sinful.

They stayed like that for a moment. Sherlock half-sheathed inside Jim. Their breathing synched. And yes. This was it. No going back. Only forward.

Sherlock snapped his hips and Jim let out a small cry. Like he was shocked. Like he hadn't been waiting for this exact moment. He let his arms drape across Sherlock's shoulders. A pliant little act. Sherlock would be directing this particular part of the show.

He rolled his hips once again, starting to fuck Jim in teasing, shallow motions. Cataloguing details. Jim probably could have been hard to read if he felt like it. But it seemed he allowed the curtains to fall.

The heat was certainly real. Every inch of Jim's skin felt like a bonfire. Jim squirmed, tried to push back against Sherlock's thrusts and drive him deeper, but Sherlock followed his motions—keeping the careful, slow, movements that he wanted.

"Come on," Jim said breathily, "if you're going to fuck me, _really_ fuck me."

"In due time," Sherlock dipped down to nip Jim's neck and the other man moaned.

"Are you going to make me beg?"

"Only if you're sincere about it. I can tell when you're acting. And it's not half as sexy as you think it is."

Jim tugged Sherlock down into a sloppy kiss. It sent odd shocks of elation though his body. He pushed deeper, just a few times, before falling back into the slow, shallow thrusts. Jim groaned into his mouth.

"You've been teasing me for hours," he murmured against Jim's mouth. "It's only fair."

"I want it," Jim whispered, and it sounded just a little bit broken. "Give it to me. Please."

Sherlock dipped a bit deeper into Jim's body, still keeping everything slow. Partly because he wanted Jim to suffer. But also because if he went to fast, he wouldn't last very long. He was far too wound up for this.

Still, he angled upwards slightly, and Jim shuddered. Grunted. He pulled Sherlock tighter against him, and Sherlock let it happen. He could feel Jim's cock rubbing against his stomach, through the thin fabric of his shirt. He could practically feel Jim's pulse. His life. His mortality.

It was strange. Jim had said Sherlock could hurt him. Given permission. But in that moment… Sherlock didn't really want to. It would cheapen what Jim had given him. Pull the moment towards carnality. Drive away his ability to absorb what was happening.

If he had other opportunities, he might use them to make Jim feel incredible, exquisite pain. But he didn't. Wouldn't ever again. He'd have to promise himself.

And right then, all he wanted to do was watch Jim fall apart. It was a greater victory to achieve that with pleasure than with pain.

Without warning, he drove all the way in. As deep as he could go. Jim's breath became frantic. Sherlock picked up speed, but stopped once he reached a moderate place. Not quite fucking. Not quite making love. Simply paying homage to the feral electricity that would always lurk between them. The kinetic energy. The explosive potential that would never reach fruition.

It felt a lot like driving a car across an icy road, fishtailing, spiraling, spinning out of control. Every shared moment carried a complete sort of uncertainty to it.

And Sherlock wasn't the only one who felt it. Because Jim had a strange panic lurking behind his features. He hadn't expected this, that Sherlock would be gentle. He'd probably prepared himself for a rough, quick fuck, fueled by hatred and adrenaline. He'd expected a breakdown. Not a drawn out sonata of fluid motion.

"You're scared," Sherlock barely whispered, licking a deep kiss out of Jim's mouth.

"So are you," the reply came choked off. Muddled as Sherlock nudged across the right spot inside Jim, wringing out another shattered noise of pleasure.

Enough games.

Sherlock began to move with more of a purpose. Rubbing against Jim's prostate more often than not. The smaller man began to tremble with it. Close. He was close. Sherlock wondered if Jim had ever gotten off without somebody touching his cock. Some people couldn't. Maybe the teasing stimulation, his prick rubbing against Sherlock's abdomen, wasn't quite enough.

Sherlock smiled. But he kept up his steady motion. Jim moaned and squirmed.

"Touch me," he breathed.

"No."

Jim let on of his arms fall from it's place around Sherlock's shoulders, to squirm down between them, but Sherlock caught hold of his wrist and pinned it above his head.

"I can't—"

"I don't care," Sherlock breathed. "You'll get your chance later. This is mine."

Jim let out a small noise. Sherlock suspected that nobody talked to him like that. Nobody else would _dare_. Jim was used to coming first. Always. As a given. Even the suggestion of the fact that things wouldn't go that way here… well it seemed to do something to him.

Interesting.

Jim writhed underneath him. Changing his tactics. Getting louder. More frantic. Trying to get Sherlock off quickly. But Sherlock wasn't thinking about his own pleasure. He could ignore it for quite some time. Mind over body.

He'd found his goal. Found the thing that he wanted from Jim. To have this one thing nobody else could ever give him.

"You're going to come for me," Sherlock said in a steady, low voice. Complete certainty. An order.

Jim let out a small snort. Perhaps at the absurdity of the situation. Perhaps to cover the way he shivered as Sherlock's tone of voice.

"Just let it happen," Sherlock licked a stripe up the side of Jim's neck. "You're almost there. I can feel it. The tension in every muscle. You need it. So just let go, Jim. Let yourself tumble over the edge."

Jim gasped, but didn't say anything. Sherlock didn't go any faster. Kept up the same, hypnotic, steady pace. Jim practically shook with it.

"Come for me, Jim," Sherlock said again, letting his voice drop into that deep, near-growl that most people found rather frightening.

Jim let out something that sounded a bit like a sob. His body was a bowstring pulled far to tight. He stopped moving. Went still as Sherlock continued to thrust into him.

"I—" Jim choked out, "oh _fuck_."

"That's it," Sherlock murmured. "Do it."

"Can't."

"You will. Or we'll go on like this forever."

"You won't be able to last for much longer," Jim's voice was high. Almost hysterical.

"I'll last exactly as long as I need to. Now _come_."

Jim let out three frantic little pants. Sherlock captured his mouth in a kiss. He felt Jim's internal muscles flutter. Building tension. Incredible tightness.

Then release.

Jim groaned long and loud. His muscles clenched around Sherlock in a series of delirious spasms. He felt the stickiness between them. He let himself spin out, pushing erratically into the tight heat. He let go. Let himself crash on the wave of intense pleasure that had built for far too long. The intensity of it made him lose his breath. His head spun slightly. His entire being throbbed with it.

And then the exhaustion quickly set in. Jim lay still underneath him. The only sound was their heavy breathing.

Sherlock withdrew after a moment, sat back. He tucked himself into his trousers once again. He settled back onto the far end of the couch. Jim continued to lay there for a few minutes, still quite obviously reeling.

"Well, Jesus," Jim chuckled into the silence. "Why didn't you ever tell me you were such a marvelous fuck? It really is a shame I'm going to have to kill you one day."

"You could always let me live."

"True. But that would make the game rather pointless, wouldn't it?"

"I suppose it would."

"Would you like a shower?"

"Perhaps later."

Silence resumed. Sherlock closed his eyes and began to wonder if he'd rather delete these memories. If it was even possible to rid his brain of such an intense experience. If he was being completely honest with himself, he didn't want to. He would remember this for a very long time indeed.

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_Well there you have it, friends. Stay tuned for possible other things in the future :)_

_Comments are sexy._

_xoxo_


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